"But why may I not go to them now?"

The question was impetuous, but the voice sounded more gentle. My words had at least pierced her armor.

"Simply because I dare not permit you to traverse these roads alone," I said soberly. "The mountains all about us, deserted as they now appear, are filled with wandering bands of desperate and hunted men whose tenderest mercy is death. Any rock may be the hiding-place of an outlaw, any dark ravine the rendezvous of as wild a gang as ever murdered for plunder. For months past--yes, for years--the two great armies have scouted these hills, have battled for them, and every forward or backward movement of the contesting lines has left its worthless horde of stragglers behind, until with guerilla and bushwhacker, fleeing conscript and deserter, it has become such a meeting-place of rascality and crime as to be a veritable hell on earth."

"But the Sergeant said there was a Federal picket post at the crossing of the White Briar."

Her voice trembled as she spoke.